


Crooked Intentions

by WomanInWhite



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Cunnilingus, Eating out, F/M, Light Dom/sub, OU, Riding, Sub Dean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-20
Updated: 2015-05-20
Packaged: 2018-03-31 11:22:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,268
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3976225
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WomanInWhite/pseuds/WomanInWhite
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Some 'deleted scenes' from "Red Sky at Morning"</p>
<p>The Winchesters agree to help Bela conduct a heist at a museum charity ball. The target: a Hand of Glory.</p>
<p>Things start going according to plan, but Dean soon learns that Bela's always got plans of her own.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Crooked Intentions

“You know, when this is over, we should really have angry sex.”

 

It wasn’t until Bela said those words that Dean really bothered to notice her for the first time since he had the unfortunate incident of running into her at that diner. Since then, they’d been too busy hating each other’s guts for him to even consider her as anything more than an incredibly infuriating pain in the ass.

 

But then there she was, ogling at him like a piece of meat. And she didn’t look so bad herself.

 

However, the idea of ‘Bela’ and ‘sex’ hadn’t even crossed Dean’s mind in ages, even if she was really, really hot, as he was finally starting to remember. He was too preoccupied with all the ways she was a loathsome bitch to really see her in any other light. After all, she’d shot his brother, stole thousands of dollars worth of scratch tickets from him, had his precious car impounded, and insulted him whenever she got the chance. All he could do was hate her.

 

But Bela’s explicit suggestion made his downstairs brain stir to attention and his upstairs brain scramble to figure out what the hell was happening. He was used to being stared at from time to time. Dean Winchester was well-aware of his sex appeal. But the comment also seemed to rub Dean the wrong way, the way Bela made it sound like he’d be some fun toy to play with and then forget about in the morning.

 

He finally countered with a weak, “Don’t objectify me,” before heading out the door. But still, with his dignity intact, he couldn’t help the smirk that twitched up on his face at the compliment behind Bela’s offer.

 

Still, it was mostly out of Dean’s mind by the time they get to the museum. Bela’s back to chiding him for his poor etiquette, and honestly, just watching Sam struggle to maintain his cover as Mrs.Case’s date was hilariously distracting.

 

It wasn’t until Bela’s impromptu fainting spell that Dean found himself alone with her again.

 

“Hey, maybe next time give me a heads-up with your plan,” he whispered angrily across the room, tossing Bela’s purse to her where she lounged on a plush, antique sofa where he’d carelessly dumped her.

 

“I didn’t want you thinking.” She smirked up at him. “You’re not very good at that.”

 

God, it pissed Dean off how she insulted him at every single turn. His pride swelled, pushing him to defend himself with equal or better snark. But Bela was quick and sharp, and after a moment of Dean’s baffled silence she leaned back on the sofa and said oh so condescendingly, “Oh, look at you. Searching for a witty rejoinder?”

 

Dean’s ego took a direct hit at that and he reacted instinctively, spitting out a, “Screw you.”

 

“Very Oscar Wilde.”

 

Dean had never before hit a woman (at least one that wasn’t a monster), but god, did he want to. Before he started getting any bright ideas, he turned to the door to do the job.

 

“Room 235. It’s in a locked glass case wired for alarm,” Bela reminded him, as if this was his first rodeo. “I’m sure that won’t be a problem,” she added in a tone one might typically reserve for children.

 

Fine. If she was going to treat him like a child, he was going to act like one. He mockingly mimicked her in high-pitched gibberish before turning on his heel and heading out the door.

 

Dean snuck into the room where the Hand of Glory lay locked in its case. He crouched down and carefully opened up the casing for the alarm’s hardware. Getting a good look at it, he found it was nothing he couldn’t handle. But still, he was cautious and methodical as he worked. If he tripped the alarm, Bela would never let him live it down, and the thought of it made his blood boil. No, he was going to do this job right and prove her wrong, that snarky bitch with her diamonds and her cunning and and her fucking posh little accent!

 

Dean shook himself, focusing again on the alarm. He was getting sidetracked, and if he tripped the damn thing, he was most definitely going to blame Bela in any way he could.

 

It was only a few minutes before the Hand was secured and in his pocket. He was making his way back upstairs when he ran into the guard that led them to the private room. He quickly made up an excuse, “Sorry. It’s, uh… nature called.”

 

“Uh-huh,” the guard said, giving Dean a look he couldn’t quite identify.

 

Dean added, to ensure his cover, “Thanks for looking after my wife.”

 

“Oh, she’s being looked after, all right,” the guard said before making his way down the hall with a smirk.

 

Dean stood confused for a moment. What was the guard implying? It didn’t take long for Dean to figure it out and he felt a small burst of inexplicable anger. No, it wasn’t jealousy. It was anger. Rage. Because if that rotten woman was busy getting busy with some random ass dude in the middle of their mission, he had a right to be mad, right?

 

His feet fell heavy on the hardwood as he walked back to their room. If some guy was in there, Dean swore he’d crack him in the jaw just on principle before verbally tearing Bela a new one.

 

He opened the door and found Bela pulling the strap of her dress back up onto her shoulder. Her lipstick was smudged. His eyes veered around the room, finding nobody else in there with her, before looking Bela up and down, suspicious. “Any trouble?”

 

“Nothing I couldn’t handle. The Hand?”

 

Dean pulled it from his pocket, merely to wave it in Bela’s face that he’s quite capable of handling things just fine.

 

Bela reached out for it. “May I?”

 

“No,” Dean said firmly, pulling the handkerchief from his breast pocket and wrapping up the Hand.

 

“It might be more inconspicuous in my purse,” Bela said tersely, clearly reaching some kind of limit.

 

It only served to satisfy Dean even more that he was annoying her. Still, he wasn’t having any of it. Not today. “Nice try.”

 

“Just trying to be helpful.”

 

“Well, sweetheart, I don’t need your kind of help,” Dean said, tucking the Hand back into his jacket before looking back up at Bela with a shit-eating smile.

 

She looked right back at him through her narrowed eyes before smirking. “Really, Dean? I thought we were friends now. I’m sure there are plenty of ways we could help each other.”

 

Dean cocked his head slightly, the confusion from earlier in the night coming back to him before Bela made it all clear with a slight quirk of her eyebrow.

 

Dean dropped his head to look down at the floor, licking his lips and shaking his head. “You’re a real slimy bitch, you know that?”

 

Bela’s fingers took a hold of his lapels, pulling Dean just a little bit closer as she leaned in to whisper, “Mmm, and you’re a self-righteous barbarian, but let’s not get distracted by labels until later, darling.”

 

When Dean looked back up, Bela’s face was only an inch away from his. One of her hands opened up and spread itself across his chest before sliding up to his neck sending a chill down his spine that he wasn’t sure was from disgust or arousal. But the worst part was her eyes, the way they were wide open and staring unflinchingly into his, challenging him.

 

“C’mon, Dean. You should know me well enough by now,” she whispered, her breath tickling Dean’s lips. “I always. Get. What I want.”

 

Dean let out a shaky breath. “You bitch.”

 

He surged forward, hands grabbing tight at Bela’s waist, pulling her close as their mouths met the way two planets on a collision course do. Violent and all-consuming.

 

Bela’s arms looped around his neck, holding him there as she forced her way into his mouth with her tongue. She firmly pressed her thigh between his legs, moving into him, and Dean groaned, struggling to keep his cool.

 

“Hey,” he panted. Bela just pressed her lips against his again and they made out for a few more moments before Dean pulled away again. “Hey, we just snatched a Hand worth thousands.”

 

“Millions,” Bela corrected, her nose pressed up under his ear before she reached up to swipe her tongue over his earlobe.

 

“Whatever,” Dean said, trying not to let Bela’s wandering hands and mouth distract him again. “Don’t you think we should scram before somebody notices it’s missing?”

 

This time Bela pulled back to stare at him with an unimpressed smile. “Look at you. Cold feet already? And here I thought you’d live up to your name, at least in one regard.”

 

Again with the insults. It fired Dean up again, and he just wanted to fuck her until she was screaming that name.

 

He pulled her close again, leading her backwards hastily with their mouths still attached. They were almost up to the couch when Bela turned them around, shoving Dean back onto it and climbing into his lap and clawing her manicured nails through his bowtie and buttons, ignoring Dean’s hisses when she slipped and scratched at his chest.

 

Dean brought a hand between them and slipped it under Bela’s dress, rubbing at her clit through a thin layer of satin. Bela hummed in satisfaction as his fingers consistently rubbed her up and down.

 

As Bela started working on his belt, Dean reached around to tug at the zipper of her dress, pulling it all the way down to the bottom of her spine before going back up to slide the straps down. He leaned back to get a look at Bela’s breasts, pushed up in a black corset.

 

That was when Bela’s hand rubbed at him through his underwear, and Dean threw his head back with a groan, his hips pushing up into her hand.

 

She worked him for a few more moments before standing up, letting her dress pool at her feet before stepping out. She kept her heels on, her sheer black stockings stopping high up on her thighs with a wide band of lace, clipped up into a garter belt. A pair of lacy black satin panties was just visible under the matching corset.

 

Dean shamelessly drank the image in, and Bela came to him again, roughly tugging off his jacket and shirt, nipping at his neck as she went. Dean let her undress him, but when she yanked him off the couch, he seemed to snap out of whatever had taken hold of him.

 

“What are yo-”

 

He shut up at the sight of Bela tugging her panties down and letting them fall to the floor. Her ass was just perfect, the garter straps accentuating the slight curve. “I hope you haven’t filled up on appetizers, dear,” Bela said, taking his seat out the couch and spreading her legs, throwing one arm over the back of the couch and letting the other one fall between her thighs, her jeweled, manicured fingers sliding all over the slick juices of her cunt. “The main course has just arrived.”

 

Dean wanted to flip her off, didn’t want to give her the satisfaction. But his mouth was watering at the sight of her, spread out like a high-class whore on that fancy couch, the dim lighting making her glow like some treasure from Indiana Jones. He dropped to his knees and practically growled as he began to devour her.

 

Bela moaned as Dean licked and sucked and slurped all over her cunt. Just to be an asshole, Dean nipped at her thigh, but it backfired when she let out a high-pitched whine and bucked her hips, her free hand grasping at his hair as she pulled him back to her pussy.

 

Dean was merciless as his tongue ravished Bela’s clit. She let her shoes tumble to the floor before she threw her legs over his shoulders, making sure he wasn’t going anywhere as her breathy moans grew higher and louder.

 

Dean could tell she was close when her stockings scratched across his shoulders, her legs squirming frantically as she neared her climax. Dean wanted to piss her off and stop, but he was too caught up in the moment, the smells, the sounds, the taste. He couldn’t bring himself to stop licking that sweet, juicy cunt. Not only that, but he didn’t want to risk losing the chance to get to fuck that hot, wet hole.

 

Dean cried out when Bela’s hand suddenly yanked at his hair, tugging his head back as she shuddered through her orgasm with a shaky moan. After the intensity wore down, her hand loosened and scratched gently around to the back of his neck.

 

“Well done,” Bela said, as if surprised Dean had passed some kind of test. Dean scowled at her as she asked, “Would the good boy like his reward now?”

 

Dean averted his eyes, hoping Bela didn’t notice how his cock twitched in excitement. But Bela never misses anything, and while she didn’t tease him, she did pull him close again. “Why don’t you get me warmed up again? You’re rather good at that, darling.”

 

He was under some kind of spell. Dean was certain of it. He had to be with the way he didn’t say a single word of protest before his head was between her thighs again. This she-devil was playing him, he knew it, but he couldn’t seem to resist.

 

Bela brought her other hand down from behind the couch, and she was gentler this time as her hands ran through his hair and over his shoulders, her nails only digging in when Dean had done something she particularly liked.

 

It wasn’t long before he had her gasping again, and Bela pushed his shoulders away. “On your back,” she said, her eyes absolutely predatory.

 

Dean complied, propping himself up on his elbows as Bela crawled over him, grabbing his shoulders again and forcing him to lie flat on his back. It turned Dean on like nothing else, and it showed.

 

Bela tugged his underwear off of his hard cock and raised an eyebrow when it sprung free of the elastic band. She gave Dean a smirk and whispered, “Big boy.”

 

Dean’s cock twitched again, and Bela didn’t waste any time, grabbing it and positioning herself over it, sinking down slowly until it was completely sheathed inside her. Dean groaned the whole way.

 

Bela planted her hands on Dean’s chest, pushing herself up and down. Dean bit his lip as he slid his hands up to Bela’s waist, digging his fingers in hard and helping her to move.

 

One of Bela’s hands slipped up to his collarbone, her thumb and pointer finger pushing down gently over part of his neck. Dean gasped and bucked up into her. He gritted out, “You fucking… evil bitch.”

 

Bela huffed out a laugh and redoubled her efforts, slamming herself down and grinding her hips in deep against him, his ass and back getting a serious case of rugburn that he was going to regret in the morning.

 

“Glad to hear you won’t miss me in the morning,” she quipped, giving his cheek two tiny, sharp little slaps with only the ends of her fingers.

 

It was enough to send Dean over the edge as he groaned and came, his back arching and stinging from the friction.

 

His arms fell limp at his sides as Bela removed herself from him. He blinked blearily at her and asked, “Not that I care, but… you’re not gonna get off again?”

 

Bela gave him another one her condescending smiles as she pulled her panties back on. “Oh, no. Watching you come apart was entertainment enough.”

 

Dean blushed a furious shade of red and he got up, pulling his clothes up from the floor. “Whatever. Let’s get the hell out of here.”

 

They pulled their clothes on and Bela reapplied her lipstick. Dean was about to double-check his pocket when Bela put a hand on his shoulder, “We should go. We’ve already been here too long.”

 

She made her way to the door and Dean patted his chest pocket, relieved to feel the weight of the Hand there. They left the room and were about to make their way down the stairs when Dean stopped her. “Not one word of this gets back to Sam.”

 

Bela rolled her eyes with a tired sigh and hooked her arm around Dean’s and went down the stairs together.

Dean was probably as relieved to be free of Bela as Sam was to be rid of Ms.Case.

 

Sam was yanking off his bowtie as he asked, “You got it, right? Tell me I didn’t get groped all night by Mrs.Havisham for nothing.”

 

“I got it,” Dean said grumpily. He paused and asked, “Mrs.Who?”

 

“Never mind,” Sam said. “Just let me see it.”

 

Dean reluctantly pulled out the cloth-covered bundle from his pocket to appease Sam. But when he opened up the handkerchief, his face fell.

 

Sam asked, alarmed, “What?”

 

Dean pulled out the small ship in a bottle that he’d found, staring at it in disbelief. He was absolutely seething. And not only that, but he felt kind of… bad. Used - and not in a good way. He stared out into the distance and said plainly, “I’m gonna kill ‘er.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

When Bela came knocking at the door of the house they were squatting in hours later, Dean was rightfully pissed.

 

“Just let me explain,” she pleaded.

 

Sam, surprisingly, seemed angrier than Dean. He grabbed Bela’s arm and yanked her inside, dragging a chair out from the nearby table and pulling her down to sit on it.

 

“Explain,” Sam demanded.

 

Bela took a breath, clearly containing herself as Dean leaned in close, wanting to make sure he could hear whatever shit excuse she came up with. She said, “I sold it. I had a buyer lined up as soon as I knew it existed.”

 

Dean shook his head and pulled away, walking around behind her and pretending to blow her brains out with an imaginary gun.

 

Sam leaned unamused against the mantle, arms crossed as he asked, “So, the whole reason for us going to the charity ball was…?”

 

“I needed a cover,” she said. “You were convenient.”

 

Dean was surprised that that had actually hurt. Sure, he’d had to con people before to get what he needed… but he was doing the right thing, usually. Bela was just in it for the money, with no illusions of righteousness or good will. And, well… it made him feel kinda shitty.

 

Sam, still oblivious to Bela and Dean’s little rendezvous, continued, “Look, you sold it to a buyer. Just go buy it back.”

 

Bela shook her head and said somberly, “It’s halfway across the ocean. I can’t get it back in time.”

 

“In time for what?” Dean asked.

 

When Bela said nothing, Sam asked bluntly, “What’s going on with you, Bela? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

 

She couldn’t meet Sam’s eyes when she admitted, “I saw the ship.”

 

“You what?” Dean asked. He let out a breath of disbelief before chuckling. He didn’t have to lift a damn finger. Bela just signed her own death warrant for him, and now, he really didn’t feel bad about it. Not one bit. “Wow, you know, I-I knew you were an immoral, thieving, con-artist bitch,” he said, making sure she knew just how he felt, for everything, “but just when I thought my opinion of you couldn’t get any lower…”

 

Bela looked up at him, genuinely confused, for once. “What are you talking about?”

 

“We figured out the spirit’s motive,” said Sam. Dean stood by with a cheeky smile on his face as Sam pulled out some copies he’d made at the library, “This is the captain of our ship, the one who hung our ghost boy.”

 

Bela looked over the picture and asked, “So?”

 

“So they were brothers. Very Cain and Abel. So, now our spirit, he’s going after a very specific kind of target - people who’ve spilled their own family’s blood.” Sam went on to recount the related deaths in town, and how each of them were of people who’d been involved in the death of their kin. “And now you,” he said.

 

“Oh my God,” Bela said under her breath.

 

“So, who was it, Bela? Hmm?” Dean got in her face again and pressed, “Who’d you kill? Was it daddy? Your little sis, maybe?” He could tell he was hitting some kind of nerve, something painful and dark, and he wanted to twist it until she screamed.

 

“It’s none of your business,” she said defensively, a hint of fear finally breaking into her voice.

 

“No. Right. Well, have a nice life - you know, whatever’s left of it.” Dean gave her a rough pat on the back that had her swaying. “Sam, let’s go.”

 

“You can’t just leave me here,” Bela said, getting up from her seat, demanding.

 

“Watch us,” Dean said, having absolutely no more of her shit. Not tonight. Not ever again.

 

Bela let out a frustrated breath and said, “Please. I need your help.”

 

“Our help? Well, now, how could a couple of serial-killers possibly help you?”

 

“Okay, that was a bit harsh, I admit it. But it doesn’t warrant a death sentence!”

 

“That’s not why you’re gonna die,” Sam said softly. “What’d you do, Bela?”

 

She shook her head. “You wouldn’t understand. No one did.” When neither Winchester seemed moved, she sighed. “Never mind. I’ll just do what I’ve always done. I’ll deal with it myself.”

 

As she turned and made her way to the door, Dean called out, “You do realize you just sold the only thing that could save your life.”

 

Bela turned back around. “I’m aware.”

 

Dean wanted to keep hating her. And in a way, he still did. But maybe he had a soft spot for people trapped in a corner, with no way of escaping with their life. After all, he could relate. His own clock was ticking, and he knew just how that felt. But it didn’t matter. The hand was gone, and even if he wanted to help her, they were out of options.

 

“Well…” Sam said with a sigh, “... maybe not the only thing.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

They’d performed the ritual, summoned the spirits of the two brothers, and Bela was saved from the brink of death. Dean wasn’t exactly happy, but he was pretty sure he’d have felt at least a little guilty if he knew they had a chance to save her that they didn’t take.

 

Now, all he wanted to do was put this damn town in his rearview.

 

They were packing up when there was another knock at the door and Bela let herself in.

 

“You boys should learn to lock your doors. Anyone could just barge in.”

 

“Anyone just did,” Sam said. “Did you come to say goodbye or thank you?”

 

Bela hummed in agreement as she reached for her purse. “I’ve come to settle affairs.” She pulled out two huge wads of cash. “Giving the spirit what he really wanted - his own brother. Very clever, Sam.

 

“So, here,” she said abruptly, tossing one wad to Sam and another to Dean. “That’s ten thousand. That should cover it.”

 

Sam and Dean gave her identical looks of incredulity and she said, “I don’t like being in anyone’s debt.”

 

Dean asked, “So ponying up ten grand is easier for you than a simple thank you?” It was pretty ridiculous, and Dean finally started to feel a little better. After all, he was dealing with Bela here, and he knew what he was getting into. Bela was the kind of woman who only knows how to cheat and lie and make money, and nothing more. He shook his head with a small smile and said, “You’re so damaged.”

 

Bela gave him a teasing smile back and said in a sing-song manner, “Takes one to know one.”

 

Well… she wasn’t wrong.

 

“Goodbye, lads,” she said, finally walking out of their lives.

 

As the door shut behind her, Sam flipped through his cash and said, “She got style. You got to give her that.”

 

“I suppose,” Dean said, staring at the closed door. “Hold on a minute.”

 

He went outside as Bela was opening her car door. She saw him coming and asked, “What? If you’re looking for more cash, you’ll be disappointed to hear that it’s already sealed in an account in the Cayman Islands.”

 

“What? No,” Dean said. He shook his head and asked, “Hey, why’d you sleep with me? Was it just to steal the hand? Because then you’re a different kind of thief than I imagined. I mean, distracting me with with sex? That’s a pretty cheap move from a super-sleuth like you.”

 

Bela looked at him like he was a child again and explained, “Darling, I’d have stolen the Hand either way. The sex was just an added bonus.”

 

Dean huffed out a little laugh and Bela gave him a light tap on the cheek. Dean looked back up at her and she smiled knowingly as she said, “I know we’ve essentially sworn never to darken each other’s doorsteps again. But if we happen to cross paths again… well, you’re always welcome to help me with my next heist.”

 

Dean shook his head and said, “Tramp.”

  
“Brute.”


End file.
